Who by Fire
by Cherith
Summary: Marian and Carver are both dealing with Bethany's death and each other, the best way they know how.


"Do you have to do that?"

"Do what?" Marian cocked her head and smiled at her brother as if to say she really had no idea what he was on about. But Carver would have none of her playful attitude and he pointed at the fire Marian had just started with a well-placed fireball.

"That-"

Marian shrugged. "It's faster; I'm hungry and tired."

"It's unnecessary and dangerous, Marian. You _know_ better." Carver's jaw clenched as he stared between his sister and the fire. It didn't matter if it was quicker- or how tired they were. Marian thought she could actually hear her brother's teeth grinding.

"Carver, l-" Marian shook her head, short curls bouncing and a small flush of anger in her cheeks. "Whatever. Put it out and build a real one if you'd rather. If that will make you feel safer."

"It's not about me, is it?"

She let out a laugh that sounded more like a bark. "Of course not, Carver. Not the way you go on." Marian rolled her eyes as she turned around and knelt down on her bedroll, reaching for her pack. "And on," she whispered. "And on."

"I _can_ hear you," Carver mumbled as he lowered himself down to sit next to the fire. She knew he wasn't going to put it out now, that seemed pointless when the work was already done. Marian heard him sighing at it unhappily.

When she turned back around, she'd laid her staff on the ground next to her bedroll and instead, in her hands, she had the remainder of their bread and a chunk of cheese. Carver was still staring at the fire, but his jaw seemed to have relaxed some and she smiled at him as she tore off a hunk of bread and passed it to him. He took it without more than a glance at her hands, careful not to touch her- careful not to look at her, and each of his measured movement made her heart beat faster.

Such a simple thing, a touch. She never mentioned how she knew those small movements of his so well. Each one just to avoid her hands. Or how, if by accident, by her own sly movement he might brush her fingers or a wrist, that he would jerk away. Those moments ate away at her, how he could be so close- and still-

"Marian," Carver began as he tore away a piece of the bread and held it near his mouth- mid-thought. "I wish you were more careful. It's just us- I know-" he moved his hand to show his palm to her around the bite of bread held between his fingers- "I know it's hard for you. But, it's hard for all of us. Just, don't tell mother, alright?"

"How I built the fire?" Marian gaped at him, mouth working but no other words coming out. She'd been casting since Lothering. Every darkspawn in their path had tasted her magic. A fire was no surprise.

"It's just-" Carver sighed, it was heavy, resigned and he slid the bread into his mouth and looked away. Away from her, away from the fire- down the hill where their mother sat with Aveline.

They had chosen to camp there because of that clearing. The only way in was the small hill that she and Carver occupied. It was small, but it was the best defense they had to survive any potential attacks in the night. Aveline would share shifts with them, but she would be the first to sleep, tucked away in the clearing with their mother.

It looked as though she had also built a small fire for the two of them, their mother was sitting in front of it, lost in conversation with their new friend. But Leandra looked drawn and pale, weaker than she had before, and she had a blanket pulled over her shoulders.

Marian followed his gaze, and shame pulled her chest tight, flushed her cheeks. Absently, she pushed a short lock of hair over her ear.

"Alright."

"Alright?" His question was soft, curious without pushing- something he rarely was. Marian looked at him and he returned her gaze, blue eyes meeting over the fire.

There was a memory there, unspoken and she could feel the the tremble in his hands, because it was in hers too. Maybe this had been what it felt like for them, he and Bethany, to feel the other without touching, to know their thoughts as though they were your own. She smiled at him, soft and tentative.

He nodded and when she felt the tears well in her eyes, she looked away.

The sky was dark and the fire she'd started was little more than dancing embers, when she woke. There was a boot at her side, then a pale, shadowed face.

"Your watch," Aveline said without preamble. The woman was gruff, a hard warrior, suffering at the same time they suffered. Similar losses: all darkspawn, all war, all nightmares. The four of them, alone in the world with only a witch to guide them.

They had good reason to be friends.

Marian smiled lazily, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she sat up.

"Sleep well, Aveline."

The woman let out a soft grunt as she nodded and stood up. There was the distinct clank of armor as the other woman moved, and Marian detected the ringing of steel sliding against steel as Aveline put her sword away.

"It's a clear night," she said and it didn't sound like a mere observation, but more a warning.

Marian shook her head, slid out of her bedroll and pushed up to her knees. She grabbed her pauldrons and slung them around her shoulders. Her staff was there at her fingertips when she reached for it and by the time she leaned against it to stand up- Aveline was already making her way down the hill. She squinted in the dark to watch the larger woman safely back to her camp. It was lit oddly by the remnants of the fire Aveline had built, but she could see well enough to know when the other woman had bedded down.

Carver was snoring softly on the other side of their campfire and Marian watched him for a moment, searching out the sharp angles of his face in the shadows. Even in his sleep, he frowned. He had taken the first watch of the night and she wondered if he had given Aveline the same warning. In any event, two clear shifts gave her some confidence.

Marian poked him in the shoulder with the end of her staff, not hard enough to rouse him, just a playful jab meant to interrupt his snoring. He grunted and with a huff, he pulled at his bedroll and turned over.

She rolled her eyes and bent down to stir the logs in what was left of the fire, letting them catch and reignite. It wasn't as large as it had been when she'd gone to sleep, but it billowed out with a new warmth that hadn't been there moments before. Smoke wisped from the logs, trailing curls in the chilly night air and Marian drew the tip of her staff through the thickest of them, drawing a clear circle in the smoke. She could no more deny the draw of magic than she could her own breath, and she twirled her staff in the air on a whim, to break up the rest of the smoke.

Bethany had understood that.

And as soon as she thought it, Marian's lips pressed into a line, her staff dipping low as she bowed her head. She stuck the end of her staff in the fire, pulling it free a moment later as it roared back to life.

_For Bethany._

They had been on the run so long, that their grief at losing Bethany felt condensed, it had merely been an afternoon. Their need to find themselves elsewhere, and quickly, given the surrounding darkspawn, had left them no time to grieve. Only to follow. And that damnable witch, who was supposed to be helping them reach Gwaren did little other than annoy the lot of them, coming and going at night as she pleased.

Marian gave a quick glance to the sky, then to the path below before hexing the ground at the bottom of the path. She tucked herself up against an outcropping of rock, staff across her legs and looked out into the darkness to keep her watch.

The crackling of the fire was like a lullaby in the cool, dark morning hours and Marian found her head bobbing as she struggled to stay awake. She was far enough from the fire it that the light didn't obscure her vision as she kept watch.

So when the first shadow crept along the path below their camp, she saw it.

"Carver," she whispered and reached out to prod his legs with her staff.

She stood as a second shadow passed below them and she heard the distinct snuffling of wolves. Blight wolves. Where there was one, or two, there would be an entire pack and if they were unlucky, there would be darkspawn close behind. There was a howl.

Carver stirred, murmuring.

"Carver, get up!" She was quiet but the insistence and necessity in her voice were clear.

By the time Carver was on his feet and reaching for his sword, the wolves had set off her hex at the bottom of the hill. Marian didn't spare a thought for anything other than battle once she saw her brother on his feet. She charged down the hill, staff swinging around in front of her, with a slice through the air that sent a blast of ice at the wolves. One of them yipped and then froze in place as a second charged her, nipping at her calf. She turned avoiding it's bite, but there was another, ready to attack and she brought her staff down on its skull with a loud crack.

She heard him before she saw him, the slice of his heavy sword into the hide of a wolf, the swish of blood as it hit the ground. He was at her back as soon as there was a space for him, dead wolf kicked to the side as he struck out at another.

A moment later his voice was loud and gruff and it echoed off the stone around them, "Darkspawn!" They shared a look that was a mix of horror and inevitability.

With another blast of ice, the remaining wolf crumpled to the ground and through her leggings Marian felt the distinct pinpricks of biting cold as it bounced up to her from the rocky path.

In the time it took to center herself again, she thought to yell for Aveline, but Carver grabbed her shoulder and dragged her back from the main road. There wasn't time as her throat tightened and she could not get the words out. Carver was there, she could feel his arm still on her shoulder and she felt him turn, heard the scuff of his boots in the dirt.

"Aveline!" It felt like they shared a breath, she felt the rise and fall of his arm in time with own shoulders and then she could finally add her voice to his as they both called out for the warrior again, "Aveline!" After a breath and a moment where they each turned to look at the other, and his expression was a mirror of the concern she felt, she added a second name to her shouts, "Flemeth!"

There was just enough time to kick the fire further in front of them, Marian helping it along with a blast from her staff so it spread down the hill. If nothing else, it would buy them some time as they continued backwards towards Aveline and their mother. Both of the women were awake; Aveline was adjusting her shield on her arm as she led Leandra to the small overhang they had earlier agreed would make for a good hiding place. There was only enough room for one person, just enough to keep Leandra out of sight during a fight. In the dim, foggy light of morning and the firelight behind them, they could make out flashes of light colored cloth as she crouched into place, skirt and cloak sweeping over her feet. Marian prayed it would serve long enough.

If the Witch was nearby, she did not show herself. That left her, Carver, and Aveline alone against a group of darkspawn, and from the rumbling ground beneath their feet, it was obvious the darkspawn were closing in. Far more distinct than the shaking ground was the sound of their approach with the rattle of ill-fitting armor and exchanges between them rasping and guttural, that twisted Marian's stomach to hear. Then came the cloying smell of blood, decay and charred flesh as they tore through the fire, and charged over the wolf corpses. Marian raised her staff and swung it toward the coming darkspawn, directing a ball of fire at the closest one.

Carver moved first, stepping away from her and squaring off against a short, squat creature wearing a helmet that had been made lopsided by a sharp dent on one side. Aveline struck her sword against her shield and followed quick after, charging out towards the group as another stunted creature roared and showed an impressive lack of teeth, then pointed its sword at their friend. Marian counted to five, waited for her brother and Aveline to take their swings and then she sent a flow of ice out from her staff catching a third creature in the shoulder as it swung a rusted sword at Carver. It roared at the impact of her attack and it was enough to make it miss Carver, but it did not stop. The darkspawn charged forward instead, forgetting her brother and pushing it's way between Carver and Aveline as they traded blows with their own targets.

Marian had just enough time to swing her staff around before the darkspawn was in her face, stinking of rot and filth and blood and she gagged as it pressed in, its sword crossing her staff as she deflected a blow. She was not incapable in close combat, but it took her just as long to coalesce a bolt of magic into the creature's chest as it did to sweep the end of her staff into its legs... and she already had momentum on her side. There was a hoarse sounding yelp from somewhere behind her, a cry of surprise as the darkspawn's sword grazed her arm.

Her mother cried out for Carver. Marian tried to put space between her and the darkspawn, pushing her staff into it's chest and sending a blast through it. It roared and swatted her staff away with a broad sweep of its weapon. Over the creature's shoulder Marian saw her brother shove his sword through the belly of the creature in front of him, kick his sword free, and then rush toward her. With a flash of strength and defiance at the thought of Carver coming to her rescue, she pulled her staff around and cracked it on the skull of the darkspawn. Staggered by the impact, it shuffled a step away and then fell back, finally out.

Carver reached her as it fell. He barked at her to stay put, blue eyes bright in the first hints of sunlight. Marian shook her head, pushed his arm to direct him back towards Aveline and the clash of battle, as she made her own way forward. Her mother said something, but she was too far ahead to hear it, there was nothing to hear but the scrape of metal and grunts of darkspawn.

The witch, didn't return until long after the warmth of the sun started to break up the memories of their morning. By then, the last of the darkspawn had fallen, with only a few scrapes and bruises between them as proof. Marian had caught the last two in a blast of ice that both froze their enemies, and took all her remaining energy. But, it was enough to allow her brother and Aveline their harsh blows and shattering cold.

After, Carver led Marian to a large rock, big enough that she had her knees folded up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. He inspected the slice along her upper arm, her first souvenir in what was sure to be a long escape from their home. It wasn't like Carver knew much of anything about healing, but during his time in the army he'd seen plenty of similar wounds, and worse. He knew his way around a quick battle dressing. Gone was the hesitation in his touch, his calloused hands more gentle than she had expected and she watched as he wrapped a scrap of fabric, torn from a shirt in his pack, around her arm to cover the wound. It didn't hurt particularly, though when he pinched the fabric together to tie it, Marian hissed.

He shot her a look of clear disapproval. "Would you rather Aveline do this?" Then, his voice lower so the others couldn't hear, "Or Mother? Or perhaps you care to ask the nice dragon instead?"

"No," she said drawing the word out and shaking her head at him. Even as she said it she knew she sounded like a petulant child, but it didn't stop her from adding, "Does it have to be so tight?"

"Yes." He met her question with the word, cut sharp from his tongue. From behind her, she heard Aveline echo the word, though from her, it came without the bitter edge. Marian flinched and turned, pressing her chin to her shoulder, to find the red-head watching Carver with a curious expression. When she thought about it, she imagined there was something like approval in the hard woman's eyes. But, then Aveline had remembered him from the war and to the both of them, Marian's injury must have seemed so insignificant. Just the thought of the word, Ostagar, sounded like an echo of battle in her mind, even though she had not been there and Carver had spoken of it very little. Marian looked back to her brother, eyes cast down to study the rocks on the ground near his worn boots.

Softly, because he was still watching her, and something about the way he checked over his work had her feeling even more sheepish, she said a mere, "thanks." He grunted, the way he always did when he would rather not put thought to words. That pulled a small grin to her lips and she unlocked her hands from around her knees, stretching and testing her freshly wrapped arm. The bandage was tight but serviceable and she scooted off the rock to grab her staff.

Marian looked up at him then, figuring he would have turned away once she was on the move again, especially with a staff in her hand. But, he was still watching. Too many years of being the big sister, the one that didn't back down - not for anyone - met his gaze and held it. He looked away first, habit and all those years between them. She wanted to say more, but didn't, and if she read him right in that moment, they were not so different, save a little magic. Strange, how something could be such a part of her, of Bethany, of their of their father - and she thought she understood a little the strain and the envy in her brother.

A pain in her heart shortened her breath and she saw a reflection of their sister in Carver's eyes. Marian knew he might never put that pain to words, or share Leandra's strangled tears, but she saw it, and felt it for her own. Someone had to be normal, had to get married and make use of the sword on their back, she did not envy her brother the task of a life like that. But the thought that someday, he could stop running, that if she could keep them all alive long enough to see him settled into a home in Kirkwall, she could afford her own jealousy then.

She sighed and went to her mother, words of comfort quick to her lips. "I'm fine, it's barely a scratch." Her mother was in no real mood to respond, staring at the bandage with eyes wide, and the press of a few gentle fingers to her arm.

Behind them, a rumble sounded and rocks skittered over dirt as the dragon shifted. Leandra started and Marian put her good arm around her mother.

"Let's not keep the nice dragon waiting," she joked loud enough for her brother and Aveline both to hear. Leandra didn't laugh, but Marian squeezed her mother tight against her shoulder anyway. Her gaze skipped past her brother, down the hill to the yellow eyes of the dragon that they had kept waiting. Impatient, the Witch unfurled her wings and they felt the resulting breeze a moment later.

"She can wait," Aveline murmured as she collected her their camp. "After all, she might have returned to an empty camp, had there been more darkspawn."

"I doubt that would have troubled her," Carver added with a accompanying huff of disapproval. Despite herself Marian chuckled and shifted her gaze back to her brother. He swept a foot through the dirt to put out what was life of the fire.

"Thankfully we had you, Carver, to save us." She had meant it as a joke, but his head jerked up and he stared at her as if she was the rest of the fire at his feet that refused to be put out. Marian shrugged against their mother's slight frame. Her arm ached, but she wouldn't break Carver's gaze just to look at a bandage.

She was tempted to smother the fire with a cone of ice, but was loathe to channel magic while her mother still leaned so close. Something about Carver's admonishment still stung, so she kept her hands steady and focused instead on helping Leandra down the hill towards the dragon.

"Next time, I'll just stay asleep," Carver said. The remnants of fire went out and he followed a few steps after them, but she could hear the angry stomp in his boots.

Marian thought to answer with a line about his bedroll making better kindling anyhow, but her mother chose that moment to link an arm around one of hers. Fighting now seemed petty, so she countered with something she didn't think he'd respond to. If she couldn't jab at him, she could at least keep him silent.

"Sleep all you like, you can earn your keep in bandages when it's over." It wasn't a thank you, she'd said that once already. But she guessed from the small twitch in his jaw and the way the corner of his lips lifted, that it was close enough.


End file.
